


Star Spangled Surprises

by warblerfied



Category: Glee
Genre: Army, Baseball, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending, Husbands, M/M, Married Couple, Military Blaine Anderson, Romance, Surprise coming home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26691721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warblerfied/pseuds/warblerfied
Summary: It had been ten months and Kurt Anderson-Hummel missed his husband dearly. His husband also happened to have become a fan of the New York Yankees. For this reason, and this reason only, he had agreed to sing the National Anthem at a Yankees game. Never in his wildest dreams did he expect his husband to be walking toward him with a bouquet of red and yellow roses and a billion dollar smile.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Kudos: 46





	Star Spangled Surprises

Kurt Anderson-Hummel was never a fan of sports. Clearly, he was more invested in the arts. After all, he had found success on Broadway and not a football field. Kurt was impartial to the half-time shows. He enjoyed judging the cheerleaders’ form. Kurt, himself, had led the Cheerios! to a national title, he knew good cheerleading when he saw it. Except not all games had a halftime show, according to Finn. True, he had a brief foray into football, but that included Beyoncé.

The most time he ever spent paying attention to a sports game was twenty seconds. He knew this for a fact because his father and his husband, then ex boyfriend, had bet on it (Burt won, but Blaine soon learned of Kurt’s habits during games and never again lost that game).

Kurt was of the belief that he should follow whichever team was winning. However, even if the Mets were winning, Blaine, Kurt’s husband who was currently deployed in Afghanistan, was a fan of the New York Yankees. So, because he missed his husband dearly, he agreed to sing the Star Spangled Banner and throw the first pitch at their next game.

The day of the game arrived and Kurt truly hadn’t the slightest idea what to wear. When he had consulted Finn, who he knew had seen many a sports games in the past, he had been advised to wear, “I don’t know, a jersey and some jeans, I guess,” and when he had told Finn that there was no way in hell he would be doing that, Finn had informed him that every celebrity who had ever thrown a pitch wore it, chuckling at his brother’s disgusted gasp on the other end of the line. Terrified, Kurt looked it up and found that he did, in fact, have to wear a Yankees jersey, to his horror (they’re boxy and do nothing for his figure, alright?). He most definitely didn’t own a jersey, but he knew who did. 

Kurt opened his closet and turned to his husband’s side, which, he had to admit, was quite the mess. Whenever Kurt missed his husband, he went through his clothes and wore them, even if the shirts were a bit too loose around the shoulders and chest and the pants too short, they smelled of Blaine and that was all he cared about. He turned to the drawer where he knew Blaine kept his ridiculous sports jerseys (most of which were bought to impress one Burt Hummel) and slipped on Blaine’s custom jersey. It read Anderson-Hummel over the number 10, which Blaine had insisted on because they had met in the year 2010. And, unlike most of the clothes in the closet, which had lost their scent of Blaine long ago, this still smelled of his husband, of raspberry hair gel, elegant cologne, and something unique that could only be described as ‘Blaine.’ Kurt inhaled deeply and turned around to his side of the closet, picking out some of his most fabulous skinny jeans. They may have been constricting for the pitch but if he had to wear a boxy jersey, then he would definitely have to show the appeal of his bottom half.

The moment he arrived, Kurt had an interview with ESPN. Even if it wasn’t his first (“Vive la différence!”), he was certainly nervous. He twirled his wedding ring as he answered standard questions; how did his claim to Broadway fame affect him (“Well, I’m about to sing the national anthem at a Yankees game, I’d say that’s quite a big change”), how was he feeling about singing such a challenging song in front of so many people (“I’ve been singing to crowds this size since I was a sophomore in high school, I’m not phased.”)

Then, they asked about his jersey.

“It’s actually not mine,” he responded with a chuckle, “Anyone who knows me knows I normally wouldn’t be caught dead in something like this. No, this is my husband’s.”

“I see,” said the interviewer, “And is he here with you today?” they asked, looking over Kurt’s shoulder as if they were expecting to see someone so stereotypically gay that they absolutely had to be his husband.

“No, he isn’t,” Kurt replied stiffly, “My husband is currently serving overseas. He’s been deployed for about ten months.”

Their expression turned somber and respectful as they returned their gaze to Kurt’s. “Well, we thank him for his service.” 

Kurt smiled politely as his interviewer returned to the humdrum standard questions.

“Are you ready to throw the first pitch?”

“Not at all, actually. The only sports I played in high school were football, briefly, cheerleading, and some ballet. All I have to work off of is how I’ve seen my husband throw it.”

“He plays?”

“For fun. Plus, it is rather fun for me to watch him play.” He winked dramatically at the camera, happy knowing that his husband was most likely blushing like mad as David laughed and clapped his shoulder.

The interviewer barked out a surprised laugh, smothering it behind their hand. 

“Well there you have it, folks. That was Kurt Anderson-Hummel on ESPN.”

They exchanged smiles before going their separate ways. Kurt walked to his manager, who led him to the Yankees’... dugout? His manager called it a dugout, to meet the team. They were nice, he supposed. All far too interested in preparing for their game to care much about meeting a Broadway actor. Kurt couldn’t blame them, either. Not that they ever would, but if his stage manager brought around some random guy and expected him to converse with them while he was doing his vocal warm ups, he wouldn’t pay them much mind either. 

A booming voice came from the speakers, slightly startling Kurt as a camera appeared in front of him. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, singing the National Anthem and throwing the first pitch tonight, star of the Broadway revival of ‘The Boy from Oz,’ Kurt Anderson-Hummel!” He gave a smile and a wave as he walked to the pitcher’s mound. The applause wasn’t something he could ever get used to. Of course, he loved it, but he couldn’t believe it was for him. He had spent years in high school being overlooked or made fun of, now he was praised and fought over in the industry. 

He stood facing a standing crowd. Well, most of them were standing (and if Kurt were being honest, he’d be among the sitting if he weren’t singing). Kurt closed his eyes, subtly shaking his hands out of nerves and placed his right hand over his heart. 

“O say can you see by the dawn's early light  
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming  
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight  
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?  
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air  
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there  
O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave  
O'er the land of the free,” he sang the high note over ear-splitting applause and beaming at the many surprised faces in the audience, “and the home of the brave.”

Kurt smiled and took a bow as the applause in the stadium bolstered. He grinned as he came up again and saw the standing ovation he received.

“Round of applause for Kurt Anderson-Hummel!” the announcer yelled and Kurt took another bow, “Anderson-Hummel will be staying on the mound to deliver the first pitch of the game!”

Kurt accepted the glove tossed to him gratefully and placed it over his left hand, over his ring. He aligned himself as he had seen his athletically inclined family do dozens of times before, faltering completely when he saw someone with dark hair in an Army uniform step out of the Yankees dugout. Kurt fell to his knees in the middle of the field, ripping the glove off his hand to cover his face. Tears streamed down his face as he caught a glimpse of his husband. His hair was completely free of its gel confines, curls cramped under a patrol cap which he removed as soon as he got on the field.

Those who could see Blaine enter erupted into cheers. Kurt saw that a few of them were wiping away tears and he couldn’t even bring himself to be bitter about how they hadn’t missed him for months and how they shouldn’t be crying. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, returning from a ten month deployment to Afghanistan and surprising his husband today, Sergeant Blaine Anderson-Hummel!” Blaine’s smiling face appeared on the jumbo-tron and you could almost pop the patriotism exuding out of some of these men. It was as if hearing Blaine’s name had dragged him out of a sort of trance. He darted up and ran towards his husband who was walking towards him with open arms and a bouquet. Kurt threw himself into Blaine’s arms, wrapping his legs around his husband’s slim waist.

Blaine let out a small “oomph” as Kurt collided with him, dropping the bouquet of red and yellow roses to wrap his arms around his husband, securing his legs around his waist. Kurt clung to the back of Blaine’s neck, pressing his face into Blaine’s curly hair. 

“This-this isn’t a dream, right?” he whispered, pressing kisses into the dark curls, “I-I mean, you’re really here?”

“I’m really here,” Blaine responded, sighing contentedly as he pulled Kurt closer to him. Kurt scrambled to his feet, holding Blaine’s face in his hands and finally planting a kiss on his lips. Blaine kissed back passionately, holding onto his husband’s waist. Kurt could feel Blaine’s smile against his lips as his grip tightened. They seemingly forgot that they were surrounded by hundreds of probably homophobic people and just kissed as though their lives depended on it. 

“I love you so much, Blaine,” murmured Kurt, pecking Blaine on the lips once again, “So, so much. I can’t believe you’re actually here. You would not believe how much I missed you.”

“I think I might,” Blaine responded with a chuckle, “And I love you more.”

“We are not doing this in the middle of a baseball field,” Kurt giggled, dropping his hands into Blaine’s and dragging him into the stands, electing to ignore the applause emanating from them. He never stopped walking, despite Blaine’s protests that he had actually wanted to see the game and that they had left his bouquet in the middle of the field. Kurt dragged them all the way to his car, where he pulled Blaine in and sat in stunned silence.

“You sang beautifully,” said Blaine, breaking the silence and looking across the center console to Kurt who flushed prettily but kept his hands folding in his lap.

“How long do we have?” he asked, disregarding the compliment he had just received from his husband.

Blaine chuckled tearfully and ducked his head, shaking it slightly. He should have expected his husband’s, forgive his pun, curtness. Unshed tears of joy welled in his honey eyes. Kurt’s face contorted into an expression of worry as he took notice of the tears accumulating in his husband’s eyes.

“Blaine, what-”

“Forever,” interjected Blaine, taking both of Kurt’s hands in his, “I was honorably discharged. I’m staying forever, baby.”

Kurt perked up immediately, glasz eyes widening in shock. He didn’t allow himself to believe it, instead remembering the times Blaine had promised he’d stay for longer then received a letter deploying him, taking him away from Kurt once again.

“Please tell me you're serious, that this-this is really happening,” he mumbled, eyes trained on the silver bands on his left ring finger.

“I’ve got a fancy certificate to prove it,” Blaine responded, releasing his husband’s hands and wiping the tears off his pale cheeks, “I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

At this, Kurt released a strangled sob of what his husband hoped was joy (It was, obviously. The fact that Blaine even questioned that earned him a smack to the shoulder later). He awkwardly clamored over the center console and into Blaine’s lap, burying his face into his neck. Blaine let out a sigh of relief at their closeness, rubbing a comforting hand up and down Kurt’s back.

“I’m staying,” he whispered repeatedly into his husband’s ear, “I’m staying.”

Kurt huddled closer to his husband, his sobs subsiding into mere whimpers. Blaine pulled back slightly, pressing his head against the headrest with a smirk as he looked down at a now subdued Kurt.

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

Kurt gave a tearful laugh. “Are you serious?” he asked, wiping tears from his blue eyes, “I literally just had a breakdown and you point out that I’m wearing your shirt.”

“You can’t blame me. I mean, you look really good in my clothes,” responded Blaine with a laugh and small shrug. Kurt just shook his head and pressed himself into Blaine’s chest.

“I’m so happy right now. I love you so much,” he mumbled into the rough material of Blaine’s uniform jacket. Blaine responded by pressing a kiss into Kurt’s chestnut hair. He didn’t have to say it back, Kurt knew he loved him. The fact that Blaine was there to kiss him and hold him was enough. Blaine was enough.


End file.
